#56, Thankful

I had Thanksgiving solo this year. With Lyme I was not feeling like a 6-hour trip each way to visit hubby's Momma, so he went and I stayed home and made shrimp gumbo.

It's a week later and my heart *and head* are full of gratitude for my life. Hey, better late than never, eh?

I'm so very grateful that I have the opportunity to write, something I've loved since I was big enough to hold a pencil. My parents bought me a red "Tom Thumb" child's typewriter, manual, when I was 7 or 8, and I wrote many poems, stories, plays and newspapers on the thing. I have no idea what happened to it. In our house, things just vanished: baby dolls, old clothing, I guess when we were at school our Mom purged our stuff. But I loved that typewriter and today I am thankful to be able to remember an icon of what I love to do.

I don't pretend to be a journalist like the seasoned writers at our local newspaper. They have real talent and real experience. I am clear-headed enough to realize I am a hobbyist.

That said, having the opportunity to write on a professional basis gives me the opportunity to have experiences I never would have had otherwise. Further down in this very blog you can see in October 2008 I got to ride on the back of the garbage truck for an article about the workers. I actually got to stand on the little ledge on the back of the truck and hold on. (I think that date is close to right.)

I've gotten to do lots of cool things with the writing gig, but yesterday may be the cherry on the whipped cream on the top of the icing of the cake.

I got to ride in a helicopter.

As a free-lancer I have to think up ideas to pitch to the editor. If she likes an idea, I get to interview the people and write the article. I send it in by email and invoice at the end of the month. I almost never enter the newspaper building, and almost always do my writing in my pajamas. It's sort of a heavenly setup.

A week ago, one evening it seemed helicopters were flying non-stop over our little town. I grabbed my phone and emailed my editor: "When the helicopters fly, our imagination goes on fire wondering who was in an accident? Who is ill? How about an article on the air-medic crew?"

She liked the idea and yesterday I interviewed a pilot, nurse and paramedic who work in our local hospital's helicopter.

Then we got to go up.

Our photographer, the nicest person I know, acceded his seat to an intern who has aspirations of being a pilot one day. So the seasoned photographer got shots from the ground and the intern got shots from the air.

This is definitely one article where the photos will outshine the story.

As old as I am, when I'm really happy or sad or confused or creative, I feel in my heart like I'm still nine years old. Yesterday was one of those days. It was hard to sit still and be silent when my heart was soaring out of my chest. It was BEAUTIFUL in the sky. We flew over our little town and then made our way over the local lake. The air from the rotors caused ripples on the water and we were just floating in the sky.

I've flown in commercial jets much of my adult life: around the US to speak at conferences for my work in IT, internationally for personal travel. I've even made the longest non-stop flight on earth, from NYC to Singapore, 22 hours over the north pole and back down.

But flying in a helicopter was like floating in the sky. No cramped seat, lack of legroom, germs or boring hours to fill. The ear protection kept out the noise so it was me and my headspace floating in the sky. Like a dream.

I got the story and will write about the heroic men and women who do this incredible work every day, but for one day, I got to fly. It was a day I'll never forget.